It takes a certain level of bravery for a party-seeking freshman to wander outside of the confines of dorm room parties on Friday nights. You see, the dorm room party offers a certain amount of safety; everyone, practically, is a freshman at those things. But when the typical freshman decides that they would like something better, something different, perhaps at the upperclassmen parties off-campus—that’s when things get dangerous.
The kiss of death is overcrowding, and the fact that freshmen generally aren’t a priority when it comes to deciding who gets to stay at the party and who gets the boot to maintain basic fire hazard laws. And so the freshman travels, forever unloved, forever adrift.
Well the typical freshman, at least.
Not me. You see, I have a senior friend.
A senior friend entitles me to a great deal of privileges that work in a domino fashion. I get to stay at parties, first of all. Because of this, I am socially superior to the—ah—common stock. And because of this, it is within my hierarchical rights to lord over the peasantry, reminding them of the fact that I am essentially a Chosen One among Brown’s two-thousand-or-so members of the freshman class.
I can speak on the behalf of seniors. After all, I’ve been to their parties. I’ve observed them in their natural habitats. I know exactly what it’s like to be a senior. I know them so well I can emulate them, so well that I practically am a senior.
After all, I have a senior friend.
The power has affected me.
I must be careful so as not to intimidate my freshmen peers. I find myself using words with multiple syllables, and the occasional complex grammatical form that the normal freshman cannot grasp. My aura of senior-ness and superiority can be overwhelmingly strong. I can best describe it as having a superpower, being a superhero—the Fantastic Freshman, if you will, or something of the sort.
It is a heavy burden to bear.
And an even heavier burden is that I, the morally obligated superior, must lead the sheeple, my powerless peers. I must take them from their lame dorm parties, and, at senior gatherings, say solemnly, “They’re spoken for.” I must lead them out of their darkness, because I have experienced the light. I am the light. Because I—I have a senior friend.
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